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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23014639">Clean</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl'>Crowgirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Feelings, Feels, First Kiss, Gentleness, Hair Washing, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:22:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23014639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt’s hair looks like it should be coarse, rough, like Roach’s mane.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>826</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt’s hair looks like it should be coarse, rough, like Roach’s mane. The way he generally treats it -- or fails to treat it -- contributes to the impression. He rarely bothers to catch it back before he goes into a fight, meaning the entire length of it is often soaked in blood or looks like it has recently been soaked in blood or something worse. When he remembers to wash it out, he does so carelessly, raking his fingers through it in a stream or ducking his head in a lake until whatever the immediate source of irritation is has been removed, then wringing it dry, and tossing it back over his shoulders to do what it will. </p><p>Jaskier wondered in the early days <i>why</i> Geralt kept his hair so long when he apparently didn’t care a copper piece about it. Surely cropping it short or even shaving his head would be preferable. Jaskier’s seen monsters get a good handful of long white strands and yank Geralt clean off his feet. </p><p>In the end, though, he forgets to ask the question because it becomes one of his secret privileges to know that Geralt’s hair feels like silk, especially like this. Wet, it’s a heavy, soft mass in Jaskier’s hands and he treats it with the kind of care he normally saves for his instruments. Not because he thinks Geralt will care very much if he pulls on a knot or yanks out a few strands trying to get rid of some long-dried substance. He probably wouldn’t even bother to <i>hmm</i> about it so Jaskier cradles the weight of Geralt’s hair in his palms as if it might break, gently washing warm water over it until it runs clear. </p><p>Geralt is silent, his head reclined against the edge of the large bathing tub, one hand hanging over the edge.</p><p>Jaskier thumbs open the vial of rose oil he’d tucked away a few weeks ago, for the next night like this one, and drips some into his palm. He rubs it through the white mass in his hands, trying not to think of the oil and his careful touches as a cure for all those wounds Geralt won’t let him help with, won’t even let him see. </p><p>This time it had been a witch and so there are a few bruises but no actual blood. From his seat on the low stool, Jaskier can see the dark stain creeping over Geralt’s right bicep -- it will creep back soon enough, he knows, but that doesn’t help somehow. It doesn’t help to know that the line he can see along Geralt’s calf where he has his leg propped out of the water is all that remains of a vicious kelpie bite or that the half-circle of tiny dimples just visible on the back of his left hand once looked like the satyr tried to split his hand down the middle with their teeth. </p><p>Here and now, Jaskier shakes his head and pulls his attention back to the job in front of him. Letting his gaze linger over Geralt never ends well. </p><p>He slips his fingers free of Geralt’s hair and lets the strands fan out in the water. Geralt sighs, easing himself further down in the big tub. Jaskier wipes his hands dry on a towel and indulges himself in a few more drops of rose oil, dripping them directly onto Geralt’s hair above the waterline and using his fingers like a comb. When it’s all gone, he slips one hand into the cooling water and gathers the hair like a handful of spider silk, cupping it gently so the weight won’t pull on Geralt’s scalp when he lifts it out of the water. </p><p>Geralt sighs again as Jaskier wraps his hair in a towel, patting at it gently. ‘Rose.’</p><p>Jaskier blinks. ‘What?’</p><p>‘Whatever you use on my hair. Smells like roses.’</p><p>‘Er. Yes. You’re not allergic, are you?’</p><p>Geralt snorts. ‘I like roses.’ He shifts again and Jaskier can’t quite believe this but it seems to be in order to give Jaskier better access to the back of his neck. Jaskier wraps the towel all the way up to the base of Geralt’s skull, squeezing gently to get the most water out. They’re close to the fire; it won’t take long for hair to dry, but there’s no point in Geralt being uncomfortable and, since he doesn’t care one way or the other, Jaskier does. </p><p>‘Why do it.’ </p><p>Geralt’s voice is so quiet it’s almost lost in the sound of Jaskier dropping the wet towel to one side and scooting his stool over slightly so he can run a comb carefully through the ends of Geralt’s hair. He pauses, hand in mid-air. ‘What?’</p><p>‘Why do it.’ Geralt moves again and for a minute Jaskier thinks he’s going to turn around and has a moment of pure panic about what his face must look like. ‘It’s not like it matters. What my hair looks like.’ </p><p>‘It’s more comfortable like this, isn’t it?’ Jaskier says, busying himself with spreading the towel before the fire so if Geralt should happen to turn around, he’ll get a view of Jaskier’s shoulder. </p><p>‘Yes.’</p><p>‘Well, then.’</p><p>‘You do it so I’ll be more comfortable.’ Geralt sounds as though the words don’t make sense to him. </p><p>Jaskier turns back, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking at the gleam of the firelight on the clean white fall of hair. Geralt hasn’t shifted again and, from this angle, Jaskier can see one ear and the line of his throat where it curves into his shoulder. If he edged slightly forward, he could see the stretch of Geralt’s chest and that’s why he doesn’t edge forward. ‘Yes. Why not? It doesn’t do any harm, does it?’ </p><p>Geralt makes a noise that sounds almost like argument but doesn’t actually form into words.</p><p>‘Well, then.’ Jaskier fixes his gaze on his own hands and concentrates on detangling, one section of hair at a time. </p><p>‘No-one cares whether or not a witcher is comfortable.’ </p><p>‘Clearly that’s not true because I do.’ </p><p>‘Why?’ There’s a great swash of water and Geralt is facing him, hands propped one over the other on the edge of the tub, chin on his knuckles. </p><p>‘I…’ Jaskier blinks, waving the comb in the air as if it might produce an answer for him. ‘I -- er -- I mean -- why not? Why shouldn’t you be comfortable? And you won’t let me do anything else,’ he adds as an afterthought and Geralt frowns. </p><p>‘I can look after myself.’</p><p>‘That’s abundantly clear, believe me.’ Jaskier can’t stop himself looking at the half-healed mark just above Geralt’s left collarbone where a hag sank her nails into him last week. </p><p>‘So why do this.’</p><p>Jaskier sighs and props his head on one hand. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ He fully expects the answer to be yes so the slow headshake is something of a surprise. ‘All right, then.’ He twirls the comb in the air. ‘Turn back around.’ </p><p>Geralt doesn’t. ‘Why do you worry about whether or not I’m comfortable.’</p><p>‘Because you won’t let me do anything else,’ Jaskier repeats, snapping without meaning to. He makes himself pause and take a deep breath. ‘If the least you’ll let me do is to keep you from going about looking like you’ve been pulled through a blood-soaked hedge backwards in a high wind, then I’ll do it.’ </p><p>Geralt looks honestly confused. ‘What else could you do.’ </p><p>‘I can tie knots!’ Jaskier raps the comb on the back of the hand with the almost healed line of tooth marks, remembering Geralt fumbling between his good hand and one knee to get the knot tight enough to stop the bleeding. ‘I can wash a wound, keep it clean, probably --’ He swallows. ‘-- probably even stitch it if I had to.’ He wiggles his fingers in Geralt’s face. ‘Quite dexterous, you see.’ He isn’t expecting Geralt to catch his hand in mid-air, hold it like some mysterious monster sign he’s trying to decipher, tilting it this way and that in the firelight. Geralt’s hands are wet with water and warm and Jaskier can feel calluses and rough skin and he has no idea what his face is doing right this moment, nor does he have any hope of controlling it. </p><p>‘You shouldn’t have blood on your hands,’ Geralt says finally, turning Jaskier’s hand so he can slide his thumb over Jaskier’s palm. </p><p>Jaskier swallows so hard he’s sure it’s audible. ‘Why not?’ </p><p>‘That’s not what you do.’ Geralt seems fascinated with the movement of his fingers over Jaskier’s. ‘Blood isn’t your work.’</p><p>‘But it is yours and I -- I don’t like seeing you be hurt.’ </p><p>‘No-one cares if a witcher--’</p><p>Before Jaskier can stop himself, he’s reached out and caught Geralt’s chin, pulling him forward and up so Geralt is staring right at him with startled golden eyes. ‘Stop fucking saying that. It’s <i>not</i> true and it <i>won’t</i> be true as long as I’m here.’  </p><p>There’s a moment of perfect silence, only broken by the snap of a log settling in the fire and the faint thud of a door closing downstairs. Geralt hasn’t let go of Jaskier’s other hand and he’s staring into Jaskier’s eyes as if he could read his thoughts straight through them and Jaskier’s just about to drop his hand and offer to let Geralt finish his bath on his own because this has obviously become about something other than a friendly hair washing when Geralt ducks forward and kisses him. </p><p>It’s too quick for Jaskier to do anything until it’s over and he’s left gaping at Geralt who looks oddly embarrassed. ‘I… just… what?’ </p><p>Geralt licks his lips. ‘No-one’s -- ever said something like that. To me.’ </p><p>‘And that’s how you say thank you?’ Jaskier raises his fingertips to his lips as if they would somehow feel different for having been touched by Geralt’s. </p><p>Geralt shakes his head. ‘Not thank you, I --’ He stops and frowns. ‘Just… Just you.’ He looks as if he’s about to say more, then shuts his mouth with a snap and Jaskier can tell he’s chewing on the inside of his lip but he’s a little distracted by never having been looked at like this by <i>anyone.</i> Geralt’s eyes sparkle in the firelight and it’s clear he’s holding Jaskier’s gaze with a bit of an effort and it’s never been an effort for Geralt to look at him before and he looks <i>nervous</i> and had Jaskier even known that was possible?</p><p>‘Fuck, Geralt…’ Jaskier reaches out and brushes his fingers over Geralt’s lips. ‘I mean...fuck, you must <i>know --’</i> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, just slightly, enough to make a few strands of hair slide forward over his bare shoulder. ‘I know … I know blood.’ He makes a motion like a half-shrug and Jaskier’s heart breaks a tiny bit.</p><p>He slips onto his knees off the stool and cups Geralt’s face in his hands; he can’t resist running his thumb under the line of Geralt’s lower lip and Geralt’s pupils expand like pools of ink. ‘Well, then, I’ll know. I’ll know for both of us.’</p>
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